


Seeking A Friend For The Alien-Instigated Apocalypse

by FindingZ



Category: Daredevil (TV), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Claire as Pentecost, Don't do science like Foggy kiddos or you might wake up naked in a Dennys parking lot, Foggy as Newt, Gen, M/M, Matt as Herman, That Mandatory Pacific Rim AU, Warning: contains brutal disregard of lab safety and sanitation protocols, tagged Gen AND M/M because who am I to define this wondrous relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6865615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingZ/pseuds/FindingZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy's new colleague is blind, and yet somehow has an uncanny ability to pinpoint exactly when Foggy is about to try and pull some Bullshittery. Foggy's job as Official Apocalypse Scientist is about to get a lot more interesting. </p><p>(in which our law nerds don lab coats and throw chalk and bicker and Foggy inevitably does a dumb thing and almost dies but also kinda makes it possible to kill tons of aliens while giving his coworker a coronary in the process) </p><p>(feat. Claire Temple in a brief cameo as Pentecost)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeking A Friend For The Alien-Instigated Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmicocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicocean/gifts).



> I love Pacific Rim. Have I mentioned that? Well I fucking love Pacific Rim. I also fucking love Daredevil. I also wrote this thing. Coincidence? Absolutely not.

He catches the chalk.

He _always_ catches the chalk.

Foggy doesn't have any idea how he manages it. So he waits a few minutes, gives Murdock enough time that he'll think that _maybe_ _my idiot coworker has stopped trying to bombard me with small objects. Now I can stop keeping my apparently bat-like ears peeled for the sound of small cylindrical objects whizzing through the air at me_ , and then chucks another piece at him.

_Thunk._

"Nelson, I swear to God - "

Ohoh. "Taking the Lord's name in vain? Aren't you Catholic?"

Murdock grinds the chalk to dust in his palm. "I'm trying to _work_."

"Aren't we all, buddy. Aren't we all. But that's capitalist thinking, y'know -- we're not defined by our productivity. How do you do that, anyway?"

"Nelson - "

"No, I'm actually being serious for a sec. You're like actual Batman."

"Actual Batman."

"If Batman actually had the traits of a bat. Actual Batman."

There's silence. Murdock is very likely sitting there in awe at Foggy's imagery. He knows it's true. Nobody can hear chalk flying through the air and not be Actual Batman.

"...Shut up, Nelson." Murdock turns to (approximately) face him. His expression is one of mournful disappointment and his sigh tells Foggy that he regrets agreeing to share the lab space.

Foggy does, because Murdock is cute when he looks mournfully annoyed and if he lets him brood for awhile Foggy will get to enjoy the little crinkle between his eyebrows for another hour, at least.

(he's a horrible person but hey, it's the end of the world. In the grand scheme of things, he won't get a huge karmic backlash because he likes the way Murdock's face wrinkles)

(okay maybe he will because it's just one more little thing to add to his huge pile of Tiny Bad Things _,_ but he's stopped caring because _damn._ Cute as heck)

An hour goes by. Foggy is up to his elbows in Kaiju skull, trying to manually figure out how the brain stem connects to the main hunk of brain tissue he's managed to salvage (because obviously aliens from another dimension wouldn't make it easy on him and make sure their corpses were easy to MRI). Murdock hasn't moved other than to paw at the table behind him for his (undoubtedly really cold) coffee. One time Foggy swapped out the contents of his mug while Murdock was in the bathroom and replaced it with cranberry juice he'd swiped from the mess hall at breakfast and had sat there cackling with glee as Murdock had sprayed it all over his chalkboard and had stood there making irritated, betrayed noises.

(Foggy had figured that Murdock would hate cranberry juice because blind people sometimes experience other senses more intensely (right?), and he couldn't think of a more strong taste than undiluted cranberry juice concentrate so he'd decided to be a little shit and test his theory)

(it had taken three days for Murdock to speak to him again)

"You know," Foggy says suddenly, "I don't actually know your first name."

Murdock's face is impassive. "We're colleagues."

"Yeah, and?"

"And it's the end of the world. Surely it our immanent demises won't be delayed by permitting each other to use our first names."

"Yeah, but it's the end of the world." Foggy tries not to pout. "It won't kill us to use 'em."

Murdock heaves a very dramatic, very Murdock-like sigh. "The apocalypse does not give you a free pass to break social codes."

"It's just a _name_ , dude!"

"Names are very powerful."

"This isn't a fairy tale, Murdock."

Another sigh. Murdock, Foggy figured out when he first met him, was a man made of the most dramatic facial expressions and body language possible.

"Matt."

"Huh?"

"It's Matt. Matt Murdock."

"Cool." Foggy extracts his hands from Kaiju brain to give Matt a double thumbs up. "Technically mine is Franklin but that's a stupid name so everyone calls me Foggy."

Matt lets a small smile escape him. "That's an equally stupid name."

"Yeah well, at least it's _openly_ stupid as opposed to Franklin. Do you know which name is more likely to be laughed at behind closed doors? Yeah. So I go by Foggy."

Matt gives a little hum, eyes facing at a point over Foggy's left shoulder. "Foggy, huh."

"Yup."

"I'll have to remember that."

 

Matt starts using Foggy's first name when he sees him in the mess hall the very next morning, as he weaves through the throngs of people as well as any of the visually-abled persons around him. Foggy doesn't know how he does it (something to do with hearing, maybe? He can hear where all these people are and dodge them? That's nuts. The mess hall is _way_ too crowded for that to work. Maybe he can feel their body heat?), but Matt hasn't bumped into a single soul by the time he carefully sits down at Foggy's table.

(Matt never eats in the mess hall, always grabs a plate of food if he remembers to eat and scuttles back to the lab with it, which is gross because he can't see and there's edible things amongst non-edible things with semi-similar textures in a small enclosed space. That sounds like a bad idea if you were to ask Foggy, but he doesn't think Matt's ever lost track and eaten something he shouldn't have)

"So," says Matt, "I've decided I'll get you coffee twice per day for two weeks -- _two weeks_ , despite the fact that you know very well how the both of us get along when you're highly caffeinated -- if, for the love of all things holy, you stop distracting me while I work."

"Oh, _I'm_ the distracting one?" Foggy mumbles through a mouthful of tasteless mush. Wait. Shit. Whoops.

Matt raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Foggy watches him eat. Does he ever miss his mouth when he eats? Shit, Foggy's accidentally stabbed his nose with his toothbrush when he's half-asleep a few times and he could _see_ it. Unless you, like, instinctively know the location of your mouth better than the location of your nose? Which might make sense, honestly, 'cause eating is more important than...the nose? Hm.

Shit, Matt's talking to him.

"...or leave it."

"Huh?"

Matt graces him with a patented Murdock Sigh. "Yes? No? Is the opportunity to caffeinate yourself into a coma slightly more desirable than lobbing things at me?"

Oh bruh, he's serious. "Hell yes," Foggy says, and accidentally jams his fork into his tooth in his haste. Thank God Matt couldn't see that. "I like my coffee strong, with enough sugar to - "

" - to be medically dangerous to small children, with a pint of cream, yes I know." Matt finishes. Foggy is pretty sure his gums are bleeding. Oops.

"How'd you know? Super Batman senses?"

Another Murdock Sigh™. "Something like that."

"Dude it's too bad you aren't a pilot 'cause _dude_ if a Jaeger was half-Batman can you _imagine_ \- "

"Shut up, Foggy."

"Right, okay." Foggy was winding down anyway. His gums are seriously bleeding. He should probably head to the washroom and get some paper towels or something. He gets up and collects his dishes. "I take coffee at ten AM and three PM, just F-Y-I."

"Noted." Says Matt, who has yet to miss his mouth with his fork.

"Uh, so see you later."

"Mm." Says Matt, around his mush. He's twirling his fork between his fingers, just a little, like an unconscious fidgety habit. Foggy probably shouldn't be so interested in all of Matt's fidgety habits.

He's kind of disappointed that he can't continue to test the limits of Matt's Batman alter ego or whatever, but coffee. Coffee. Yeah. Good enough.

(also, a little voice whispers, he should probably stop tormenting the guy. Not because he's blind, just, y'know. So he doesn't come across as a _complete_ asshole)

 

Matt actually brings him coffee the next morning. Foggy had totally forgotten (because he'd managed to simulate an electrical pulse to his Kaiju brain that he's pretty sure (okay, _pretty_ sure) would have caused the Kaiju's right....arm? Limb. Extremity. Of some sort...to move if the head had been attached to anything.  Which, y'know, no big deal, just casually mapping the neurological pathways of an alien. Totally reasonable to forget about last-minute deals with colleagues.

The smell of the nectar of the gods wafts leisurely under his nose. He blinks, looks a bit to his left, sees a mug attached to a hand (a rather nice hand, if he has to be honest. Not like those old geezer scientist hands. They're normal-people hands with no strange chemical burns or extra mutant thumbs from experiments gone wrong or anything like that) attached to an arm attached to -

"Oh, hey Matt."

 "Hello." Matt puts the coffee down by his elbow, and shuffles over to his side of the lab. "No projectiles today, please - they were reluctant to let me have as much sugar as I took, so I may have had to persuade them."

"Yeah, yeah, your airspace is safe today, buddy. No need to fear."

"I am somehow not comforted in the least."

"Believe it, comrade. You underestimate my relationship with bean beverage."

"Bean beverage."

"Mmm-hm."

"Huh."

Matt ignores him for the rest of the day, even when he goes to fetch Foggy's three PM mug of delicious bean beverage. To be fair, he's pretty sure he saw Matt bring back a cup of Joe and chug it, and he's never seen Matt drink coffee so maybe today is just a day of new things for dear ol' Matty. Coffee, no need to dodge his asshole lab partner who he is now on a first-name basis with, man. Foggy can't blame a guy for being quiet. Quiet with awe, probably.

He's still thinking about Matty and his super-senses when Matt stretches and yawns (his shirt rides up and hmmmm, he doesn't have any tattoos on his hips or lower back, looks like. Shame. He could pull 'em off easily. Actual Batman with tattoos - an epic comic idea in the making. Or, wait, Matt couldn't see 'em, so prolly not. Sigh) and shuffles to the other end of the lab to retrieve his cane. It's old, the paint chipped and peeling and there are scuff marks and gouges that Foggy can see from across the room. They don't make canes like that anymore, haven't in a long time.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Hm?"

"Your cane. Where'd you get it?"

A pause. "A gift from my father."

"He died, right?" Wait, shit. Bad Foggy. "I mean - "

"Yes, he died. Good night, Foggy."

Foggy has to spend the next ten minutes fighting the urge to not smash his head into the carcass in front of him. He's an idiot.

 

The next morning, he's prepared and gets his _own_ coffee (and doesn't manage to score nearly as much sugar as Matt did, seriously, what the actual fuck is his colleague's charisma modifier), plus however many scones he can sneak into his pockets before anybody notices, plus an additional thermos of coffee for Matt (no sugar, no cream. No wonder Matt's so bitter sometimes). He scuttles to the lab and carefully arranges the thermos plus two scones on Matt's desk. If he was a smarter man he'd have found a way to say, "sorry for being a dick" before Matty left last night, but instead he now has to deal with morning-after peacemaking (heh). Hopefully Matt likes scones.

Matt turns up at his usual time, folds up his cane, and shuffles over to his desk to paw at Braille papers that Foggy _may_ have tried to learn to read once (and promptly found out that you really _can't_ teach an old dog new tricks), and Foggy waits with baited breath as his left hand grazes a slightly stale pastry.

"Snack," he offers, because he's a moron who apparently doesn't know that blind people are perfectly capable of recognizing food. "Last I heard, beanpoles are a Kaiju's favorite snack. Gotta protect our own and all that shit, right?"

Matt is very still, looking like he's trying to will the scones and the thermos into divulging terabytes and terabytes of government secrets. "...Right."

"Right. So, uh, y'know. Just doin' my part."

"Your part."

"Good Samaritan, that's me, Franklin Foggy Nelson, veritable paladin of the apocalypse - "

"Foggy."

"Yeah?"

"Please stop talking."

"Rodger that."

"Foggy."

"Yes?"

"Thanks." Matt's voice is low, like he maybe hopes you won't hear it? Joke's on him, he's not the only one who can hear somebody whisper from ten feet away.

"'Welcome, friend. And don't worry, your airspace is safe today."

"How generous of you."

"I know, right? Scones and no distractions."

"Truly a fantastic feat."

Matt's voice is so emotionless, so _blank,_ that Foggy drops the banter and blurts, "look, I'm sorry about yesterday."

"It's fine."

"It was a dickish thing, to say it like that."

"Yes it was," says Matt, breaking off a piece of a scone. "But it's fine."

"But it's not - "

"Yes, it is." He says firmly. "Foggy, do you really think that somebody bluntly reminding me that my father is dead is the worst thing anyone has ever said to me?"

"Uh..." Probably not, but Foggy doesn't really want to think about that. Matt pops the scone into his mouth, and something very close to a small smile crosses his face.

"And regardless," he says, "anything is forgivable with enough scones."

 

Matt is a lot more chatty around Foggy after that, for whatever reason (who knew that bringing up dead relatives would poke a hole in the dam, jeez). He'll sometimes bring Foggy coffee when he doesn't have to (so Foggy will bring _him_ coffee a day or so later so Matt doesn't think Foggy feels indebted to him or anything). Matt is a lot less secretive about his work (physics stuff, mostly - interesting, but Foggy maintains that he likes science that you can get elbow deep in, both literally and figuratively), and in turn Foggy gives him snippets of information about Kaiju anatomy that seems related to whatever Matt is chewing on for the day (how Kaiju's _get_ here and how they do it in one piece, mostly. Physics, is, apparently, every Kaiju's bitch).

It's good, to be honest.

(actually, to be even more honest, it's _way_ more than good)

Foggy starts pulling some extra hours in the lab. At first it's just a few here and there, maybe just two or three per night, but then he looks up one day and it's eight AM and Matt is folding up his cane and propping it up against his desk.

"You haven't slept," is Matt's greeting.

"Nah." Foggy fumbles around and manages to put a scalpel back in its proper place without accidental self-injury. There's been an increased amount of that, lately. "Who cares, right? The world is ending."

"Foggy."

" _What,_ I swear, I'll take a nap in a sec, I just wanna - "

Hands are curling around his upper arms and he's being tugged towards the pile of junk in the far corner, under which was, once, a lumpy futon. Matt stops just inches from it, Foggy at his side.

"Clean all that off, and sleep."

"There's no place to _put_ all that shit!"

"Then just pile it somewhere else, I don't care. Sleep."

"Yes, sir." Sleep sounds nice, actually. Now that he thinks about it and all. Foggy stumbles forward and makes a swiping motion at a stack of papers balanced precariously on top of...a moth-eaten overcoat? How the fuck did that get there.

The papers go flying. Behind him, Matt makes a tiny, irked sound.

"You know what, never mind. Just sit there - just _sit,_ I'll clean it up."

"You don't have to - "

"Glue your ass to that chair, Franklin Nelson."

Welp. "Okay."

Foggy watches Matt work. He doesn't so much as 'clean up', but rather takes the pile of objects on the futon and meticulously moves it two feet to the left so it's piled on the floor instead. He steps back. "Lie down."

Foggy lies down. His body decides to immediately betray him, and he starts to drift off as soon as he gets supine.

"...you don't die," Foggy hears himself murmur. Matt blinks at him (well, at his left knee).

"Come again?"

"Hope you don't die," he garbles out. God, he's so damn tired.

Something like a smile crosses his features. "I hope you don't die either, Foggy."

Foggy is about to respond, but all the strength seems to leave his eyelids at once, and he feels himself slipping away, listening to the shuffle-shuffle of Matt pacing back to his desk.

 

This is how, a week later, Foggy ends up standing next to a Kaiju brain with a glorified colander in his hands.

He's going to do it. He probably won't survive (for very long). He's still gonna do it though. He's gonna drift with a Kaiju and learn all the secrets. All of them. Because, heck, the world is ending and _someone_ has to do the dumb-crazy-stupid-brilliant (well, hopefully brilliant) thing that no one else is willing to do. No one else has the know-how. Apart from Matt, that is.

He doesn't want Matt to have to do this. If anything, Matt should be the one to _survive._ The world doesn't get someone like Matt Murdock every day. Matt should survive and do brilliant things and have kids so he can teach them his Bat-ways so the line of Actual Batpersons doesn't die out.

Matt should be the one to survive.

Foggy's gonna make sure Matt survives.

 

Someone is shouting. Maybe? Foggy's ears are ringing so he can't really tell. Someone pulls his headgear off, tries to prop him up against the desk. Foggy tries to sit up properly - he really does, his neck is beginning to cramp at the angle he's at - but his muscles are having none of it and he slumps back down. He thinks his eyes are open, but he can't see anything. Just smears of light that hurt if he focuses on them. He closes his eyes while the shouty-someone says _don't you dare close your eyes Franklin Nelson,_ sounding muffled and far away.

 

Something is tap-tap-tapping in a neat, rhythmical pattern next to him. Sounds like a cane. He opens his eyes, still can't see much. Someone with a calm, steady voice - the marshal? What's she doing here? - asks him a question. Foggy's mouth answers, something about hive minds. The marshal asks him more questions. Foggy doesn't have to think to answer, which is nice. He feels like he's dreaming. He can't feel his limbs, but he can see his own hand flutter at his side as he talks.

He's really tired. The tapping has stopped, and arms come around him from behind and try to make him sit upright. Foggy starts to slump over anyway - he's _really_ tired. Sounds and images start to slip through his mind like a sieve, draining away before he can process them. Someone is saying his name. He closes his eyes and ignores them.

 

Later (much later, he's been moved, he's lying down on something soft), Foggy feels a hand close around his wrist. Something ruffles his hair.

"Foggy, it's over." Matt whispers. "We won."

Foggy tries to respond, tries to say, _oh good, you didn't die. Awesome. Cool beans._ His mouth is glued shut, so he tries to maneuver his wrist so he can squeeze Matt's hand in acknowledgement. He thinks he might have just feebly poked Matt in the forearm, but the sigh he gets in response is good enough.

 

Foggy wakes up for real, finally. It's been a week. Matt and the marshal say he wasn't really out, that he kept talking and talking and seemed responsive enough through most of it, but Foggy doesn't remember any of it. He doesn't really focus on trying to remember any of it, though, because his body is being a bitch and is making him learn how to balance and walk around and do simple things like hold a pen properly all over again. The medical staff tells him he'll be up and about in a month or so, though, so he really can't complain. He got off lucky. He really shouldn't be alive.

(he still complains, though, because that thing that his muscles do now if he tries to move suddenly? That _aw hell no motherfucker_ thing? Yeah. That sucks ass and he's absolutely gonna complain about that)

Matt says he'll make sure to visit him every once and awhile. And by 'once and awhile,' Matt apparently means, 'every day at the same time with two cups of coffee in hand, cane stowed away somewhere out of sight.'  It's pretty nice, actually. Foggy is able to remain caffeinated _and_ hear from the best ears around what exactly went down last week (he'd been out for a _week._ Jesus H. Christ). In return, Matt gets...well, Foggy doesn't actually know what Matt gets, apart from the pleasure of Foggy's impeccable company. He seems okay with that, though.

Time passes. Foggy's muscles stop bitching at him so much. He can actually make it to the bathroom by himself now, which he is eternally grateful for, 'cause _man_ that got awkward fast. Matt still drops by every day. The marshal comes by too and shakes his hand and tells him that he's got a permanent job on his team, since he and Matt are the top two Kaiju experts in the world.

It's not over yet. That's pretty clear to see - humanity may have managed to stuff a wad of tissue into the bloody nose that is the apocalypse, but they're gonna need a more permanent solution. They're gonna need it soon.

That's okay, though, Foggy thinks. They've got a fighting chance.

Everything just might be okay.

(fuck that, it's totally going to be okay) 

 


End file.
